


How You Love is Who You Are

by orangeiguanas4



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeiguanas4/pseuds/orangeiguanas4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Santana aren't very good with feelings or emotions.  They exist in the silence that connects them, weaving them together in an unbreakable bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Love is Who You Are

Baby girl, it may take a while, but take the good from the bad  
Never minds are never sure, so never leave them wanting more  
What are you waiting for  
How you love is who you are  
-Sara Bareilles “Red”

Nobody sees the every day pain I’m in. My pregnant belly resulted in a beautiful baby girl that was taken away in the arms of someone else. By the time school started for junior year, I had lost the extra pounds and have conned Sylvester into returning my Cheerio uniform. For everyone else, it was as though last year had never happened; like I hadn’t spent nine months slowly growing another human being to then have to give her up. I was a mother, but not a mom and I had to live with that for the rest of my life.

Santana threw me into a locker hard when she found out I had squealed to Coach Sylvester about her boob job. That should have been my first sign that someone had problems like mine. She wouldn’t have gotten the surgery if she wasn’t insecure and struggling to get by at the top just like I was. I didn’t give it too much thought though because every night the only thing I could think about was a little girl named Beth.

We found each other through our mutual hurting. I missed Beth so badly that my chest ached like somebody had cut out my heart. Santana had different struggles. It wasn’t a secret to anybody that Santana and Brittany were close; like even closer than best friends. But Santana watched Brittany date Artie, her tears hardly being contained every time she saw them together. I saw the hurt of losing a loved one that I recognized from my own reflection. 

At one point we had been really good friends, but the last year had gotten in the way of that. With Brittany otherwise preoccupied with her new relationship, Santana and I grew close again. We didn’t talk about the pain, but it was nice to have someone that understood without even having to tell her about how fucked up I was.

The summer before senior year, Santana and Brittany started to reconnect and I fell to the wayside. I was invisible again, a shell of the person I had once been. Even dying my hair hot pink and doing drugs didn’t attract my mom’s concerns for my well-being. I came and went as I pleased. In reality, I didn’t need to come home at all but I was silently begging for her to notice that I wasn’t okay. She never did.

Santana found me on Saturday after the first week of school. I was hanging out in the park alone, not wanting to be around my new friends and not wanting to go home. She pulled the cigarette from my lips and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke slowly. We didn’t talk; we never had to. Things were going downhill with Brittany and things had never gotten better for me.

We spent the whole afternoon sitting on a bench in the park, talking about nothing important and smoking almost a whole pack of cigarettes. As dusk started to fall, Santana announced her hunger and dragged me to Breadstix. It was mercifully void of our classmates and we ate in near silence besides Santana demanding more breadsticks every time the waitress reappeared at her table.

I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but after we threw some cash on the table to pay our bill I invited Santana back to my place. My mom was out and there was a note on the counter informing me that she was at some book club and there were leftovers in the fridge if I was hungry. Santana hauled herself up onto the countertop and swung her feet like a hyperactive child. I rolled my eyes before walking into the sitting room and extracting a bottle of vodka from the unlocked liquor cabinet. Her face broke into a wide grin when I held it up for her to see. I pulled two shot glasses from a kitchen cabinet and a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke from the fridge before leading the way to my bedroom.

Santana scoffed at how little it had changed. My cross still hung above my bed, my walls painted a pale green to match the floral bedspread. It was childish, but I just didn’t care enough to update it. Stuck in the mirror was a picture of glee club in Times Square last year and one of the Unholy Trinity holding our first National cheerleading championship trophy. Other than that, my room was made up of furniture and scattered textbooks.

I poured the clear liquid into the two glasses as we sat cross-legged on my carpet. We lifted them up and clinked them together without speaking. I drained the shot into my throat, feeling the burn. I hated the feeling and loved it at the same time; it made me feel alive. Santana grimaced and took a swig from the Diet Coke before passing the bottle to me so I could do the same. It eased some of the burn, blending the flavors together.

Before long, I was wasted and Santana was wasted and we were giggling at nothing in particular. The power of the vodka loosened our tongues and we talked, really talked, for the first time in our confusing friendship. I told her all about how I couldn’t get beyond giving up Beth. She told me she was gay but that Brittany wasn’t and she couldn’t handle such a serious relationship. Things went from giggly to serious to tearful and everything in between.

Once talking became unbearable, we tried to push our hurting down. Santana kissed me, deeply and a little roughly. Her teeth nipped at my lower lip aggressively; her hand moved to hold my face against hers. It was my first time kissing a girl and I had no idea what I had been expecting. Santana’s personality was clearly illustrated in her kissing style: she was dominate and a little rough, but moved with finesse. I gave into her completely, basking in the fact that I could actually feel something other than self-loathing.

Clothes were pulled off, hands wandered, and I came on my back, rolling into Santana’s skillful fingers with her name falling repeatedly from my mouth. She smirked in her accomplishment and I wiped it off her face by kissing her again, flipping us and making her do exactly the same thing.

We grew into an unspoken agreement after that. I guess people would call it a booty call or a friend with benefits, but I called it feeling something other than numb once in a while. I start going to classes again and smoking less. Beth is back in town with Shelby and it’s so hard to know she’s so close by, but I know that Shelby will never let me near her with the way I’ve been acting.

A couple of weeks into our arrangement, Santana shows up at my front door with a bottle of blonde hair dye, a couple of DVD’s, and a full bottle of Bacardi Razz. I let her in and she eyes up my all-black ensemble down to my combat boots. She pushes past me and heads up to my room and I have no choice but to follow in her wake. It only takes two shots for her to convince me to ditch my pink hair, but not before she takes me up against the bathroom sink while telling me how sexy I look as a rebel. When she’s done, I look at my reflection and see the old Quinn trying to shine through, but it just feels fake. It’s over now though and there’s no point in going back if I ever want to see Beth again.

Santana pops a movie in and grabs the liquor bottle again, taking a swig and passing it to me before making herself at home on my bed. My mom is out again, probably avoiding this miserable house as much as I try to. It doesn’t take long for half of the bottle to be gone and for me to be on top of Santana, short blonde hair falling in a curtain around my face.

We wake up intertwined the next morning. It’s a first for us; usually we stick to our own sides of the bed, hardly brushing up against one another. But this morning, my head is on Santana’s pillow, face nuzzled into her shoulder with my arm lying across her bare waist and our feet tangled together. Her hand rests on mine on her stomach and I can feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing. She’s still asleep. I internally debate if I should slide away to my own side of the bed before she wakes up. Would it be awkward for us to acknowledge that our arrangement has grown to include unintentional cuddling?

Before I can make up my mind, her body twitches as she starts to wake up. I freeze and squeeze my eyes shut as though I’m still sleeping. She rolls away from me, her grip tightening on my wrist and holding me there. We’re practically spooning and I hear her sigh in content before she drifts back to sleep. I let myself do the same.

It’s afternoon by the time we wake up for real. Neither of us comment on the fact that I was blatantly spooning her as we get out of the bed. Santana pulls on the clothes she had worn over yesterday and I grab clean clothes out of my drawer and pull them on quickly. It feels more tense than our usual mornings together knowing we had spent the night with our naked bodies pressed against one another.

Santana makes it her focus to help me get to see Beth. She leaves New Directions in favor of Shelby’s group and constantly coaches me on how to approach Shelby. Puck is helpful too since apparently he’s just as desperate to see our daughter. I don’t know why I never really noticed that he was hurting just as badly as I have been.

Shelby seems uncomfortable with my presence around Beth, but she tries to let me be a part of her life anyway. It’s so hard to see my little girl after so long. I see so much of myself in her, but I don’t say it aloud knowing my words would be accompanied by tears. She seems happy with Shelby and at the end of the day I know deep down that I did the best thing for her, no matter how much it tears me apart.

Finn outs Santana in the middle of a busy hallway at school and I watch her completely break down. I pick her up off of the choir room floor where she ran to hide and force her into my car. She doesn’t really fight me and I tuck her into my bed, my arms around her tightly. Her sobs seem to go on forever, but eventually exhaustion takes over and her breathing evens out. I don’t release her the entire night and she wakes up to the alarm the next morning still tucked against me. We don’t really discuss it, but she thanks me and kisses me lightly on my lips before rolling out of bed. It’s the first time kissing hasn’t led to sex, but we don’t discuss that either.

I’m not surprised when Shelby takes off again after the Troubletones lose at Sectionals. Rachel seems pretty distraught about her mother running away from her again and I feel her pain. Shelby promises to send updates and pictures, but I know it’ll be nothing like getting to see Beth once a week like I have for the past couple of months. 

The only good thing about the Troubletones loss is that our glee club is reunited again. Santana sits beside me in the back of the room and sexts me, causing my cheeks to burn in embarrassment. Brittany sits on her other side, seemingly oblivious to what is going on. Santana and I haven’t discussed her situation with Brittany since that day on the bench so I don’t really know where they stand or if they still hook up. Somehow, it doesn’t seem to be any of my business.

Brittany has been really supportive of her since she was forced out of the closet and I find myself getting a little jealous from time to time when Santana seems so happy with her. Behind closed doors, I show my support in a very different way, but at school we don’t touch or cuddle the way her and Britt do. I stand beside her as we walk down the hallway while Brittany links their pinkies on her other side.

I find out at the end of January that I got into Yale. It had been a dream for so long and I’m excited that despite how fucked up my life had gotten I still managed to make sure that I’d be getting out of this stupid town. I share my news with the glee club and I’m surprised when Santana drags me home right afterwards. We have sex in her bed before she utters a word to me. We’re sober and Santana attempts to talk about her worries about not escaping from Lima, especially now that I have my ticket out of here. It’s awkward and so unlike us, but I listen to her and I try to kiss away her fears. I have no idea if it actually works, but at least she calms down.

Valentine’s Day is an awkward affair. Brittany has become more open about her feelings for Santana since Santana is now a well-known lady lover. Santana seems sheepish about the situation and I stew in my jealousy and resentment. I’m not really sure where it’s coming from considering Santana and I have never discussed our arrangement before. I’ve always know the two of them had something going on, but now I have no idea if Santana actually has feelings for Britt. I go to Sugar’s ridiculous party anyway since the rest of glee club does, but I spend the night observing Santana having a romantic night with our blonde friend and practically ignoring me.

We don’t hook up the week following Valentine’s Day. She knows I’m upset, but Santana isn’t one to talk about her feelings unless it’s absolutely necessary so instead we just pretend like nothing ever happened. Brittany is still flirty, but Santana seems to be shrugging off her advances more than she had been before. Part of me gets excited at this, but I try to tell myself that I’m just trying to see it the way I want it to be.

As expected, we take Regionals relatively easily. I convince Sue to let me back onto the Cheerios on a whim. It’s not like I need it for my college applications, but there is still a strong need in me to feel the power of that polyester uniform again. Rachel and Finn are getting married and despite my open disapproval since the engagement, my elation from meeting with Sue leads me to ask Rachel if I can be a part of the wedding again. I rush home to get my bridesmaid dress and I’m heading towards town hall as quickly as possible. I know I’m late and my phone keeps buzzing. Finally I pick it up and try to respond to Rachel, but there’s the sound of crunching metal and stinging heat to my left side before everything goes black.

I wake up with my throat uncomfortably dry. The room isn’t one I recognize and as I start to focus, I also start to notice the stabbing pain that travels through my ribs and chest. There are blurry figures scurrying around me and I’m pretty sure I’m trying to yell but my throat is so damn scratchy that I don’t think I can actually make a sound. The pain starts to numb and my eyes get really heavy again and I fade back into a dreamless sleep.

They tell me that it takes two weeks for me to stay awake more than a few minutes at a time. I’m connected to a million machines, but after a few gulps of water, my throat seems to be usable again. My body is groggy and doped up on tons of drugs, but I can recognize my mom curled up on a cot in the corner of the room. The TV is on mute with the screen glowing in the dark room. A clock on my bedside table tells me it’s just after midnight and I have no idea what day of the week it is. I’m surprised when the door creaks open and Santana tiptoes into the room carrying a Styrofoam container. She’s wearing sweats and she looks like she hasn’t showered in days. When she gets closer, she notices that I’m awake and gasps loudly. I hush her, not wanting to disturb my mom and she slips into the chair that is next to my bed. I move tentatively, reaching my hand towards her and she drops her container onto the bedside table before grasping my hand. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and I feel my own eyes start to well up. I say hi quietly, which seems like the lamest thing ever after she’s obviously been sitting by my deathbed for days on end. She silently laughs, her hand shaking against mine. My body is still exhausted and I know the medicine is going to put me back to sleep, but I get out the words to tell her that I want her to lay with me. Santana eyes my mom cautiously before turning back to me. I know she doesn’t want to give my mom the wrong idea, but right now I just don’t care what my mom thinks. She eventually slips into the bed with me, her body warm against my broken one. Carefully, she puts an arm across my waist, careful to avoid the tubes and bandages that line my left side.

Over the next few days, I’m awake a lot more. My mom is overjoyed and I have a steady stream of visitors from the glee club, but Santana hardly leaves my room. Her dad looks in on me and doesn’t push her to go back to school yet. Rachel brings us both our assignments when she visits in the evenings and Santana and I sit and work on them while eating the takeout people bring us. When I get too tired to work anymore, she slips into the bed beside me and we watch movies and cuddle until I finally pass out.

I leave the hospital in a wheelchair not knowing when I’ll be able to walk again. I’m furious at the situation. In three months high school will be over and I should be preparing to go to Yale. Being stuck in a wheelchair and trying to adjust to life in college and dealing with everything in between just didn’t seem like a possibility. 

Once I’m discharged, Santana’s mom insists that she start attending school again. I’m still on bed rest for another two weeks before I am allowed to consider going back to school, so she brings my homework over each night and sits on my bed with me. My mood has rapidly declined since returning home and seeing no progress. I still can’t feel my legs and I can’t do anything by myself. I know my mom is worried about me since I’ve been refusing to eat or move most of the day. She seems to be relying on Santana to force me to eat something or to even sit up in the bed. 

My room is different now. The boys from glee club helped my mom move all of my furniture downstairs into what used to be my father’s study. The walls are lined with dark wooden bookcases and it doesn’t feel right at all. Santana is the only thing that makes it feel the same. I can smell her perfume on my pillows after she leaves each night.

School in a wheelchair is unbearable. I don’t know how Artie can stay so upbeat about everything when he spends his entire day not being able to reach anything and getting hit in the face with backpacks. Mr. Schue had made us ride in wheelchairs for a couple of hours a day sophomore year, but it took until this for me to really bond with Artie. He’s the only one that really gets what I’m going through and we start hanging out more. Santana comes to physical therapy with me almost every afternoon, but Artie is the one I confide my fears in. He’s a sweetheart and a great friend through it all.

Santana comes into my room one evening in a rage. I am lying in my bed after a long afternoon of physical therapy, practically helpless to escape. I’ve just started to gain the slightest feeling in my legs again, but I’m nowhere near the point where I can really move. She’s yelling in Spanish and I can only make out every fifth word, so I just stare wide-eyed until she stops pacing.

She’s crying and I’m dumbfounded. I try to reach for her, but she stays out of my range of motion. Frustrated, I fall back onto my pillows and wait for her to really explain what’s going on. In a scared, broken voice she asks me if I’m dating Artie.

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips. It seems absurd to even consider the idea that I would date him. He’s sweet and adorable, but I’ve never considered him more than a friend. Santana is staring at me looking more vulnerable than I can ever remember seeing her. I tell her he means nothing and I’m rewarded with her lips against mine with a passion we’ve never shared before.

Prom rolls around and I feel like a princess in my purple gown. I’ve been standing pretty well lately and the feeling has slowly been returning to my lower extremities. Santana and I are both nominated for prom queen and I vow to myself that when I win, I am going to stand to receive my crown just like I’ve always dreamed.

We count the ballots together and discover that I’ve won by a single vote. I thought it would mean everything to me after all of the shit I’ve gone through over my high school career, but seeing Rachel have her dream ruined made me realize how much I still have going for me. Santana and I write her name and slip it into the envelope. Rachel is stunned but beams so brightly as she dances with Finn, my crown on her head sparkling in the spotlights. I’m on the stage singing the song and I pull myself to my feet with some help from Santana and the microphone stand. She holds me tightly around my waist and I see a small tear roll down her cheek as she glances at me.

I’m too exhausted for the after parties. Surprisingly, Santana gives up a chance to party with our friends to come home with me instead. She helps me out of my prom gown and glances down at my near-naked body with a look I’ve never seen on her. I’m self-conscious, knowing that even in the dim light the bright red scars on my ribs and back are visible. She mumbles that I look beautiful and I blush scarlet. Our eyes meet and I see passion staring back at me. We make love on prom night and I laugh afterwards because it seems so cliché until I realize it’s the first time that it has meant more than just sex to me and that it has nothing to do with the fact that it’s prom night.

Graduation creeps up on me. We’re national show choir champions. I got to dance at the championship after only three months ago believing that I’d never even walk again. The last few weeks are emotional and we spend all of our time hanging out with one another. Santana has gotten a full ride to the University of Louisville for cheerleading, but I know it’s not where her heart lies. We don’t discuss what is going to happen when we both leave in August.

After graduation, I share a quiet celebratory dinner with my mom. She cries a little and tells me how proud she is of my accomplishments. I hug her tightly, finally feeling the acceptance I have been looking for. That night, I go to a party at Puck’s. All of the gleeks are there and I just feel so content as I look around the room. Santana shows up late in a skintight green dress that makes my mouth water. She saunters up to me and pulls me to my feet, her arms immediately wrapping around my waist. I’m caught completely off-guard when she leans up into me and connects our lips. The room is full of our classmates, but they fade away as we melt into one another.

Essentially, Santana has forced me out of the closet. She knows it’s something I’d never do myself and without it being knowledge to everybody that we have something going on, I’d never confront my own feelings. As soon as she’s made her point, she grabs my hand and pulls me into the backyard. We sit down on the back steps, shoulders brushing lightly. I’m a huge mess of emotions and I don’t know whether to slap her or kiss her again. Santana slides her fingers into the spaces between mine and I feel the anxiety slowly drain from my body.

We talk about feelings. I forget that we’re sitting in Puck’s backyard on our graduation night and I get lost in Santana’s voice telling me that she’s in love with me. We’ve grown up so much in the past four years and we’ve changed so much. But as we changed, we grew into one another in a way I had never imagined possible. This was love, the real thing. Santana couldn’t save me from my demons, but she learned how to love me despite them.

I’m not surprised when Santana calls me crying a week into cheer camp at Louisville. She would’ve rather never gone in the first place, but she knew it’s what her parents wanted for her so she decided to give it a try. In that moment, I know she isn’t going to last the whole semester no matter what I say to try and reassure her. I’m not due to move into my dorm at Yale for another week, so I throw a duffel bag into my car and hit the highway.

She squeals when she swings the door open to see me standing there. I’m wrapped in such a bone-crushing hug that it’s hard to breathe but I don’t care. Santana is so happy to see me and I’m happy to be there, even if it’s only for three days. 

We spend the whole weekend holed up in her dorm room besides when she has to leave for practice. There’s no sightseeing or meeting her new friends. Instead, we order food in and watch TV and have a lot of sex. We both cry when I have to leave on Monday and I let her hold me tight as we stand in the parking lot next to my car. She kisses me through the open window of my car and whispers that she loves me against my lips. We had agreed on a no strings attached relationship while we figured out how to deal with the incredibly long distance between us, but as I drove away, I could feel my strings tugging me towards her heart in Louisville.

By Thanksgiving break, Santana has dropped out of Louisville and moved into a tiny studio apartment in New York City. I come to New York over Thanksgiving instead of going home. Her apartment is furnished from things she picked up at thrift stores and Craigslist as she hunts for a job to pay the bills. Her mom handed over her college fund, but she’s actually being smart and not blowing it all outright. 

We watch the parade in our pajamas and call our moms, insisting that we’re fine and happy to be alone over the holiday. Neither of us are great cooks, so we pick up open-faced turkey sandwiches and fries from a deli a few blocks down. We set up our feast on the scratched up coffee table while watching Gilmore Girls and drinking cheap beer in our sweatpants. The beer cans pile up and we snuggle up together on the couch. It feels more like a family holiday than it ever has before.

After Thanksgiving, the end of semester push begins. All of my time outside of classes is spent in the library or at group meetings. I love college more than anything and my classes are interesting, but finals are seriously the worst thing I’ve ever had to experience. Santana sends me tons of e-mails with links to ridiculous pictures she has found on the internet. I hardly have time to talk to her and I know it’s her way to trying to relieve some of my stress and make sure we maintain some contact. 

She’s gotten a job in a coffee shop and bitches about it all of the time. New York isn’t an instant dream come true, but Rachel convinces her to come sing at a piano bar a couple of times and I know she’s been getting into open mic nights as often as her schedule allows.

As soon as I finish my last final, I pack up my bags and toss them into the trunk of my car before jumping on the highway towards New York. Santana acts nonchalant when she answers the buzzer, but as soon as the door swings open for me, I can tell how excited she is that I’m here. It’s been a long week of barely there interaction and it’s been almost a month since we last saw one another. Too long, in my opinion.

I’m only in New York for a few days before I catch a flight back to Lima for Christmas. Santana looks upset as she drops me off that she’s not joining me, but she got a good gig performing a set in Brooklyn that she can’t bail on. She wraps me in a tight hug at the gate and turns away before I can see the sadness take over her face. 

I return to New York on New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t due to return until the 5th but being around my mom in the house that holds some of my worst memories grew unbearable quickly. She didn’t really fight me when I told her I was going to the city instead of staying the extra week. On a whim, I decide to surprise Santana. I take the train from Newark airport into the city and hop on the subway uptown to her apartment in Morningside Heights.

The look of surprise and sheer joy on her face when she opens the front door to see my on her doorstep makes it all worth it. Before I can get a word out, her arms are around me, then she’s picking me up and swinging me in a circle. I laugh, sharing her moment of happiness.

Second semester of college is much like the first. I love my English classes and I love Yale. Santana is taking classes part-time this semester and is working at the coffee shop and any singing gigs she can pick up. We’re both busy, but somehow we make time to alternate our visits so that we don’t go longer than a month without seeing one another.

One April weekend when I come to Manhattan to visit, I break the news that I got an internship at a small publishing firm in New York for the summer. Santana is more excited than she lets on, but I don’t mind. Our relationship is complicated at best, but somehow it works for us.

I move to New York at the end of May. Santana insists that I stay with her and I don’t put up much of a fight. It’s weird coexisting with her for more than a weekend at a time. Our schedules are really different and for the first couple of weeks I feel like we hardly see one another. 

Santana comes in late on a Wednesday night. She had been playing a set in Brooklyn and I had worked late, picking up Chinese food and then proceeded to fall asleep as I read through a manuscript for work. I felt her warm body slide against mine as she squeezed next to me on the couch and I sighed into her skin, content to have her so close to me.  
The summer flew by between work and going on ridiculous adventures in the city with Santana. We slept in the same bed and made one another breakfast and spent Friday nights cuddled up on the couch with takeout and our Netflix queue. It wasn’t until I started packing to go back to Yale that I realized how serious our relationship had gotten over the past three months. Not once had we talked about the nature of our relationship, but I hadn’t hooked up with anyone besides her since I had visited her at Louisville. I hadn’t flat out asked her about her sexual escapades, but I was pretty sure that we were in the same boat.

On the last night before I had to return to New Haven, Santana and I picked up pizza from our favorite place and headed down to Central Park. It was dusk and the park was full of people jogging and tossing a ball around. We passed the benches and instead sprawling on the grass, kicking off our sandals and just enjoying the feelings of a late August evening.

I felt so relaxed and happy as I sat cross-legged with Santana’s head propped in my lap. My fingers ran through the long waves of her hair absentmindedly as I watched the people move through the park. We didn’t need to talk to enjoy being in one another’s company.

I looked down, having felt Santana’s glance fixated on me. Her brow was furrowed and she didn’t look as happy as I felt.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, continuing to my hand soothingly through her hair splayed on my thigh.

“Are you in love with me?” she asked seriously, her gaze intent on my face.

“San, are you serious?” I asked incredulously. I wouldn’t have applied for every internship in New York City if I hadn’t wanted to spend the entire summer with her.

“Do you love me?” she asked again, her expression unchanging.

“Of course I love you, Santana,” I tell her, trying to soothe whatever turmoil she’s experiencing.

“I want to be together, like really together,” she blurts out. Out of habit, I keep my face from giving away my emotions. Santana never willingly talks about emotions and I feel like it has taken her the entire summer to work up the courage to have this conversation.

“I’m already yours,” I say softly, sliding out from under her and moving to straddle her hips. I lean down and kiss her lips softly. “Don’t you know that I’ve always been yours?”


End file.
